The Distant Metropolis
I woke with the taste of copper and old dust on my tongue, the dream still clinging to me like a wet sheet, a phantom weight that refused to evaporate in the pale morning light filtering through the sheer curtains of our master bedroom. I lay there for a long time, staring at the ceiling where the plaster had begun to crack in a pattern that resembled a river delta, and I tried to piece...
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